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They stood there so close, staring at each other with inexplicable anticipation. Draco realized he was leaning, closing the gap between them, physically, emotionally, he’d never dreamed of being that close to Harry Potter in his life. Potter’s eyes fluttered, and Draco thought Maybe.
“Harry,” he whispered.
Potter’s eyes shot open. “Is that a plant?” he breathed and pushed Draco away, rushing to the corner of the room near a large window. “Is it inquollis anicorpus?”
“I don’t know,” Draco acknowledged. “Give me a moment while the blood rushes back to my brain.”
Potter’s eyes darted to Draco’s crotch. He flushed and turned back toward the window. Was he embarrassed? Ashamed? Potter’s form seemed tense as he stood appraising the tall, leafy flora. “We have to get back for the ransom drop.”
“Not if we convince Zivantus to fix this mess!”
“You must know by now we can’t do that! We can’t change anything. Don’t you see?” Potter pointed to the large potted plant. It was nearly as tall as him. “We were always meant to come back and take it. It’s why this mess happens in the first place. If we don’t, you and I will cease to exist.”
Draco sighed. “You’re right.” He was at least still strong enough to admit he was losing the battle between reason and whatever in Salazar’s name took over his mind when Potter looked at him like he’d done moments before. “Grab the bloody thing and let’s go. We’ll have to get out from under these wards to apparate and use the Timepiece.”
Potter cast an advanced Levitation Charm on the plant and followed Draco to the parlour doorway.
“Where do you think you’re going with that?” Zivantus had come back from his office and stood with his wand raised at the far side of the room.
“Harry, go!” Draco shouted.
Zivantus threw a litany of spells at them and Draco rushed to block each of them. One got through and hit Potter in the leg, sending him tumbling sideways into the cocktail trolley. Draco faked a Bat-Bogey Hex and then came at Zivantus with an Incarcerous Spell. The force of it threw the other man against the wall. He fell to the ground, wrapped in thick, black rope, unmoving. “Harry,” Draco didn’t take his eyes off Zivantus. “Are you alright?”
A groan was the only response.
“Was that a Stinging Jinx?” Draco discerned Zivantus was at least concussed, if not completely knocked unconscious. “Well?” he turned and scanned the broken bar cart. Among broken bottles and split cherrywood, Potter sat up and sighed.
“Yes. And it feels just lovely soaked in Ogden’s.”
Draco rushed to help him up and ushered them out of the house. As they made their way to the border of the property and the end of the wards, they heard a commotion back at the house and an alarm sounded. “Come on,” Potter yelled, and ran with a slight limp, clutching the plant in his arms. The last thought Draco had before they disapparated was how ridiculous Potter looked in that purple coat, stains covering his clothes, with a leafy, green plant towering over him.
“This isn’t the Ashtyl,” Malfoy frowned. Harry rolled his eyes. “Where did you take us?”
Harry explained, “I figured we shouldn’t go back to the hotel, in case someone sees us. This is the alley outside that nightclub down the street.” Malfoy nodded. Harry set down the inquollis anicorpus and drew his wand to spell himself clean. Malfoy shot out a hand and stopped him. The touch sent a jolt through him and the memory of their almost kiss flashed in his mind.
“You can’t clean firewhiskey with magic, Potter.” he said. “Are you mad? You’ll set yourself on fire!”
Harry laughed nervously, and then frowned when Draco didn’t say anything else. “Seriously? I am covered in more than just firewhiskey. I feel and smell disgusting!” Malfoy’s eyes traveled down Harry’s form and back up again. Harry gulped. Whatever had passed between them minutes before had changed something. It had lifted a barrier that for so long had held back a ferocious devotion, a mix of anguished desire and provocative sentiments.
“Irrelevant,” he said. He pulled out the Timepiece “Let’s go.”
Harry proceeded to complain that he wouldn’t leave until he changed his clothes. “I’m a bloody fire hazard!” he threw up his hands. Malfoy pointed out that they needed to hurry if they were to get back and reunite with the others before the ransom was due. Harry shook his head. “We are literally six weeks early for the ransom drop, we definitely have a few minutes to spare. I’m going inside to find clothes.”
“Nightclub’s don’t usually give people clothes, Potter.”
“No,” Harry smiled mischievously. “But clubbers are often in the habit of leaving them behind.” Harry levitated the plant and opened the side door to the club. They walked into magical fog and floating strobe lights, and it took almost a minute for Harry’s eyes to adjust. When he looked over at Malfoy, the blond wore a satisfied grin. “What is it?” Harry asked.
“Oh you know, just the perfect atmosphere for these ridiculous sunglasses,” he smirked. Harry couldn’t believe that Malfoy had grabbed them during their rush to leave the house. “Find me when you’re no longer wet and sticky.” He walked away and Harry lost sight of him in the sea of bodies on the dance floor.
Harry made his way to what looked like a coat check and shot the attendant a warm smile.
The attendant held up a ticket and said, “Coat and—” she looked to Harry’s right at the floating plant, “—ficus.”
Harry shook his head, “Oh no, I’m not checking the plant.” She raised a brow. Harry leaned in, “Any chance you’ve got an extra shirt back there? Pair of slacks?” He motioned at the mess down his front. “My date got upset with me and…” he trailed off.
“Funny,” the attendant said stoically, “I’ve never known a ficus to retaliate in anger.”
“Anyway,” Harry laughed uncomfortably. “The clothes?”
“Right,” she said and then disappeared down an aisle behind her. Harry waited a few minutes and then got worried, but she finally came back with a pile of folded clothes. “These look like the only thing I had in your size.”
Harry glanced at the rainbow pattern and sighed, thinking it was a bit loud. “Thanks.” He made his way to the loo. He cast a quick privacy charm by one of the sinks and then disrobed. He’d still had the rolled up copy of the Prophet tucked in his waist, but it had mostly been soaked through with a red, flowery-scented liquor. Harry tore off the front page to show Ron about Ginny, and tucked it into the purple coat’s pocket.
The Stinging Jinx had hit him in the leg and the skin around it was covered in big, red welts. He cast a healing spell, but it was only slightly successful in reducing the swelling and redness. He wasn’t in excruciating agony so he supposed it could wait. Then he washed himself clean using the sink, but still couldn’t quite get the feeling of alcohol off his skin. As soon as Harry put on the rainbow striped pants and black mesh shirt, he gasped.
“Aye,” someone said from the other side of the room. “You don’t look that good, get over yourself.” Harry stared at himself in the mirror. This was what he’d been wearing—his other self. Since the case had taken off, he’d completely forgotten.
“Are you done watering your plant? Some of us need the sink.” Harry apologised and rushed out. He threw on the purple coat and set out to find Malfoy in the crowd.
He found an area at the edge of the dancefloor and scanned the sea of people. All of them seemed to be losing themselves to the beat of a Lady Hippolyta song, and Harry wished he could join them and feel carefree for just a moment. He wanted to surrender his heavy burdens, to lose himself in the rhythm of a song and the feel of another, a beckoning touch to lead him toward something like weightlessness.
Harry hadn’t realized his eyes were closed until a hand softly curled around his waist and the space in front of him warmed with the promise of a sound body. He opened his eyes and took in the man in front of him, lines and edges softened by the kiss of darkened space, grey eyes revealing a rapture at the object of their focus. “Harry,” Draco whispered.
“Merlin,” Harry whispered and his eyes fell to Draco’s lips. “I don’t know where these feelings live inside me,” he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Draco’s ear. “But they’re there, they’ve always been.” Harry pulled back so he could see Draco’s face, and his lips skirted the other man’s cheek in the process. When their eyes finally met, Harry nearly felt drunk with anticipation. He watched Draco watch him as he licked his lips.
Then the plant crashed into them and Draco stumbled backward. “What—” Harry looked around.
“Is it—” someone nearby started to ask. “It is! It’s Harry Potter!” The vicinity broke out in murmurs as bodies started flocking to his side. Harry looked around for Draco but he’d disappeared. All he had was the damned plant floating next to him.
“Harry! What are you doing in Edinburgh?” a woman shouted. A young man cut in front of her. “Harry! Is it true you’ve left the aurors to become a chocolatier?” Someone grabbed his shoulder and turned him around. “Harry! When is Ginevra’s baby due? Are you getting back together?” A hand slid into his from behind and yanked Harry out from the center of the mob. “Harry!?”
Draco pulled Harry away from the dance floor and rushed them to the side exit and into the alley, the plant floating not too far behind. Draco pulled out the Timepiece and began adjusting it. “Looks like Lovegood actually had the story right for a change,” he smiled.
“Come again?” Harry asked. He nestled the plant in the crook of his arm, resting it against his hip.
“Earlier, when Lovegood said you’d been in a nightclub,” Draco was grinning wildly, and Harry thought he’d never seen him look so liberated. “Said you’d been dancing with a mature ficus.” He leaned forward and grabbed Harry for the time jump. They ended up flush against each other. Draco’s breath danced against Harry’s neck, “Cockblocked by a ficus is more like it.”
And then they fell.
Hermione shuffled through the Ashtyl’s Floo Room and headed to the hotel room at five til eleven in the evening. She was still a bit flustered from her argument with Cormac McLaggen at the Ministry. He had insisted she leave without him.
“I will give you a ten minute head start,” he’d said.
Hermione replied, “It’s not a proper tail if I know you’re there. Just come with me.”
Cormac replied, casually, “I know what I’m doing,” and motioned for her to leave. So without another thought, she left.
When she got to the hotel room, she quietly knocked. After no one answered, she tried the knob and the door swung open. That was not a good sign. Wand ready, she crept inside.
